


guess i'm in love (with the fucked up kid)

by cigarettestainedeyes



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettestainedeyes/pseuds/cigarettestainedeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He did anything he could to stay away from all the bad; a story of relapse, relationships, and reckoning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Mickey only needed two things in life to be happy: sex and food. Money would’ve been a nice third option, but that came around even less often than either food or sex. He could usually find something in the back of the kitchen cupboard or in the nightstand in his room where he would hide a box of crackers that Mandy would buy every two weeks mixed in with the usual haul of beer, microwavable dinners and other assorted groceries. Sometimes that was the only thing he ate all day.

When there weren’t even crackers to gorge on, Mickey would try to go to a friend’s house to see if he could eat, but lately most of them were too busy peddling drugs or taking them. He tried hard not to get involved in anything heavy, so he didn’t spend the amount of time with them that he used to.

The main reason for this was Ian.

He couldn’t help it; the sex was the best he’d had in his short, uneventful life. He reminded himself daily that he could find a new slice of teen heaven anywhere he wanted, but if he believed that he would have agreed to deal for his friend Dustin last week or taken that free handful of Xanax from Margaret the night before. They’d crossed paths along a series of alleys, completely by accident. He could have had a real party.

But he didn’t. He liked working at Kash and Grab, for the most part, and seeing Ian everyday was a bonus. The kid made him smile even though he would never let Ian know that.

So instead of ruining everything, Mickey laid low for the first time in his life. He only smoked pot when things got too stressful and if he had to deal for extra cash, he only sold to people he knew. To keep busy he practiced his shooting near overpasses where hardly any cars passed so he could boast about being a better shot than Ian, he cleaned his room and then the rest of the house – the Milkovich’s didn’t own much – while moving around his family as they shot him weird glances because of what he was doing. He did anything he could to stay away from all the bad.

Fortunately that meant seeing Ian almost every day. Ian made Mickey’s hands stop shaking and the nagging itch beneath his skin vanish. In return, Mickey supplied sarcastic commentary and cigarettes. That’s all he felt he could offer, but if you asked Ian – as long as he wasn’t within hearing distance of Mickey – he would tell you that he liked how Mickey kept him warm. During the chilly nights as summer transformed into fall, sometimes the night snuck up on them and they ended up passing out together by complete “accident”. He also liked the way Mickey’s face lit up when he bought him coffee even though Mickey tried to muffle his enthusiasm. Coffee, and not the sludge Mandy or Fiona brewed at home, they were talking about the Starbucks cups filled with searing hot happiness and topped with swirling whipped cream. It was a luxury they could rarely afford. Still, Ian tried to save enough to pick some up at least three times a week. It was worth it to see Mickey’s eyes get larger and a smile stretch across his face.

On bad days, Mickey would hide away in his room. He wouldn’t answer the door or the phone. Only his family – and Ian, of course – disturbed his peace. His family had to go through his room to get into the bathroom, so he couldn’t do a thing about that. Ian would always find a way inside, whether it was buttering up to Mandy and agreeing to play “boyfriend” and watch a movie with her and some friends, or crawling through Mickey’s window when he didn’t have patience for Mandy. He only had to break one lamp before Mickey decided to leave the space in front of the window clear for Ian to use in the future.  


Ian never shied away from how bitter Mickey was on his comedown days. He brought soup in chipped, heavy thermos mugs and Nyquil he’d stolen from the pharmacy. He wrapped Mickey in blankets and they watched bad sitcoms in the living room. Mickey would snap at him and Ian would snap back until the shaking stopped.

By this point he was sweating so much that when he peeled away the blanket, it fell to the ground with a heavy flop. Ian would bring him another shirt because Mickey was too exhausted from shaking so much. He would put on the new shirt but stay in his boxers. During these times Ian would sit in the ragged, sturdy armchair and watch until Mickey’s muscles weren’t so locked up, until his body sank into the rundown couch, the seams stretched and ready to burst in some areas, yellow sponge spilling out in others. Only then, when Mickey drifted off, would Ian join him on the couch and put a protective, worried arm around his clammy shoulder. Ian Gallagher, who could shoot someone in the same place twice without thinking about it, who had stolen a car, who had hidden from the cops; all of the hard edged, cold and calculated logic would be replaced with worried hovering and mother-like tendencies when Mickey was asleep. Ian knew the guy would tear his head off if he knew Ian liked to run his fingers through his short hair or rest his head on Mickey’s shoulder and touch the hollow spot where his chest became neck.

If you asked him, Ian would admit that he was terrified Mickey would relapse. Rehab wasn’t an option, medicine was too expensive, and life as a whole was constantly wavering between complete shit and somewhat manageable. Mickey had a lot of reasons not to stay clean. There was money in the drug business, there was structure and order, but there was also anonymous sex and easy-going friendships.

Given the choice, most people wouldn’t consider the ramifications or health consequences or social stamp reading “loser” when put up against things like sex, money, and a guaranteed fantastic trip.

But there was a toll taken on the body and the mind. There was violence and addiction. Mickey hated not punching people out and not carrying his switch blade for safety, but he liked the extra money and the fact that food had taste again. He liked all of it too much to start using again. Ian helped, but it was all on Mickey to make his own life worth it again.

When he felt ready, he went to a party. It was a friend’s birthday. They were making a big deal about a lot of nothing – turning 22, how fucking boring. Jason was worse off than the Milkovich’s so he didn’t have anything to show for it. Everyone who came knew this and brought what they could in forms of booze, drugs, and cigarettes. Mickey had actually gone out and bought him a gift, a metallic cigarette case with flames on the side. It was the only real present Jason got.

Mickey allowed himself two beers to make it look like he was committed to the party. They played card games for hours, lit cigarettes left and right, and listened to music before someone pulled out a tin of store-bought cookies. No one had any candles. After an off-key, mostly sarcastic rendition of “Happy Birthday,” they ate the cookies, refreshed their drinks, and then Jason pulled out a stash of grade-a heroin. Mickey’s blood went cold. He almost called Ian and got the hell out of there.

Instead he fucked up.

No, he didn’t just fuck up, he completely collapsed. It was like everything he fought for and all the things that mattered lost their iron grip around his willpower and it became an entirely different entity, pulling and controlling and propelling him forward.

He ran to Ian’s house. He didn’t know how he did it without throwing up. There was a distinct tension in the air, the seams of forgiveness and understanding were down to its last tethered thread, threatening to bust and be lost to angry words and weak smacks to the back of Mickey’s head. Ian saved his energy and threw a blanket over Mickey when he pitched forward and landed on Ian’s couch, garbling about the party before passing out.

“Ian! Why is that grungy kid on our couch?” Fiona shouted hoarsely up the stairs the next morning. You could hear the coffee in her voice; four hours of sleep, tops. Ian had gotten good at guessing. “Ian? Mandy’s brother?” She continued shouting as she climbed the stairs.

He stared at the ceiling until the heavy footsteps got to just outside the door, then he rolled over and rubbed his eyes, pretending that he was just waking up. The truth was, he didn’t want to face the boy lying on the couch, the one who was stupid and dirty and angry and crazy.

“Hey, isn’t that the kid who wanted your ass when Mandy lied about you attacking her?” Ian couldn’t even laugh at how ironic and poignant her question was.

“He got drunk,” Ian lied, “Needed a place to crash. I think he thought I was Lip.”

Fiona nodded and scratched at her hooded eyes. “Alright, but get ’im out of here before Deb gets home. I don’t need her waving a frying pan at his head.”

“Where is she?” Ian asked.

“Beth’s. They’re gonna bake all day for this thing at school next week. She’ll be gone till at least two.”

“Alright, thanks, Fi.” Ian said and sat up on his bed, sliding off and stretching his arms.

Fiona smiled and lifted the steaming mug in her hand. “Coffee’s fresh. I gotta run, I’m working at the hotel today.”

“Grab me some shampoo.” Ian yawned and made his way to the bathroom.

*

He poked Mickey in the cheek until his hand was smacked away. The boy grunted and blinked his eyes open.

“Fiona bought that cinnamon coffee creamer you like. Wake up.” Ian demanded bitterly.

Mickey surprisingly listened and hoisted himself into a sitting position. He took the coffee and thanked Ian with another grunt.

“So are we gonna talk about this or just ignore it?”

“Is the latter really an option?”

“Fraid not.”

“Thought so. Got any food? I’d rather be full before you start biting my head off.” Mickey tilted his head back and downed half the drink in one go.

Ian gestured to the slices of toast on the coffee table. Mickey shoved an entire piece into his mouth then took another long sip.

“You were almost six months clean.” Ian began.

“Sorry, mom.” Mickey snorted sarcastically.

“No, you’re not. I’ll say it again: don’t do this for me, do it for you.”

“What makes you think I would quit for you?” Mickey was trying to act tough.

They both knew he would quit for Ian or at least that used to be part of the reason. Ian found him one night at home back when they had really started this thing. He was reeling and shirtless and when Ian slipped through the bedroom door while Mandy was cooking Mickey told Ian that he was officially more important than his x box, which is saying a lot since you can pawn an x box for money and Ian should be so fucking happy about this news. Ian was shocked and when he pushed the issue Mickey just reached out and grabbed him, pulled him down and wouldn’t get off of him for ten minutes. Ian took this moment and shoved it in Mickey’s face whenever he got bitchy. Mickey would shut up instantly. It came in handy sometimes.

“Just tell me first next time?”

“So you can convince me not to do it?”

“No, so I can fucking pick you up. I don’t need the cops finding you and hauling your ass back to juvie. Your family doesn’t need it either.”

He didn’t say Mandy’s name but Mickey heard it in every word. There was no chance to save his brothers, but Mandy was still young, untouched by jail cells and court dates. Mickey had once told Ian that he wanted to protect her. Ian promised to help. That meant bringing her name up whenever Mickey acted stupid. However this time it dripped in the subtext without either of them really saying it.

“I know, I know. I fucked up, ’kay? I got it.”

Ian looked satisfied with this answer, and he was at first. He took the empty plate back into the kitchen to get more toast when a shocking amount of annoyance and anger surfaced all at once. He slammed the plate onto the counter top and rushed back into the living room.

“No, okay? No. If this hellhole of a house has taught me anything, it’s the amount of bullshit kids lie about.”

“Not much of a fucking kid, am I?” Mickey deflected.

“You don’t get it, Mickey.”

“It happened once, it’s fucking over. How the hell am I supposed to fix this shit now?” Mickey got to his feet, unsure what to do once he was standing but knowing that he wasn’t going to back down.

“What about six months ago? Three months before that? And two weeks before that? Every single time you tell me you get it, you go and fuck it up again. I’m beginning to – ” He stopped cold.

Mickey looked rampant. “What? Beginning to give up? Starting to see what’s really going on? This ain’t all sunshine and gangbangs, hun.” Mickey spat.

Ian deflated and didn’t say anything for a beat. “Ya know, I almost believed in you for a little while there. Really had me going.” Ian let out a short laugh. “Just get out. You’re welcome for letting you stay and covering for you when Mandy called. And the food.” Ian snapped as Mickey calmly collected his things.

However when it was clear Ian was finished, Mickey was there, grabbing and shoving him against the wall. “Your family ain’t shit either, Gallagher. Your dad does more drugs than my whole family put together. I do a little heroin and you freak?” Mickey guffaws and it’s so loud Ian jolts under his hold. Mickey pushes away from him and is laughing. He runs a hand over his face before pointing at Ian. “If you had met me a few years later you probably would’a been in the same shit. Just like your brother.”

That was it. Ian punched him in the face.


	2. Chapter 2

Mickey didn’t know about Ian’s right hook. Blood was flowing from his nose, half of it was slowly beginning to swell up, and the color was spreading to his upper cheek. There would be a black eye. Mickey was frozen, speechless at the punch and how much it’d hurt. Ian might’ve been in ROTC but Mickey was always the guy with the muscle, the son-of-a-bitch with a witty comeback and a killer swing. Fucking with that persona annoyed Mickey to no end.

So instead of backing down he came right back at Ian, fist raised, his gray tank top stained red in the front, skin clammy and sweaty from being wrapped in a blanket all night. His veins protruded below his skin, taut with tension like a violin bow bending too far. His eyes sunk into his pale face, the scowl his mouth was formed into seemed to be a permanent line.

Ian jerked away at Mickey’s advances, rage still in his eyes but a softer expression on his face now that his anger had depleted a little from the punch. Unfortunately Mickey was raring to go. He didn’t swing; he grappled for Ian’s shoulders instead and pushed him back. Ian’s head smacked against the wall before the rest of his body did but it all hurt the same.

Mickey almost went for him but the energy he had exerted from the push mixed with the comedown made him still. He was shaking too hard and any minute he would drop if he didn’t calm down. He could feel his stomach heaving in reluctance; his body was trying to restrain him from doing anything stupid but his mind was racing. He wanted to punch and kick and fuck this kid all at the same time. Mickey didn’t usually prefer fucking Ian, even if the kid brought it up often enough, but right now with Ian’s wide eyes and grimace and tousled hair Mickey wanted to pin him to the ground and wipe the expression off his face.

  
Instead of snapping and lashing out more or throwing Ian down on the floor Mickey snorted and wiped his bleeding nose before reaching down to grab his jacket that he must’ve crawled out of at some point in the middle of the night. He had been way too high to take it off when he’d arrived.

Ian was in a fighting stance but he didn’t move. Mickey didn’t look at him again and a few seconds later he slammed the door shut so hard the pictures rattled. Fiona came running down, her hair wrapped in a towel.

“Ian, what’s going on?’ She asked with a head full of worry lines. She hadn’t heard any of it. She’d been showering. Ian was relieved. He didn’t need to explain Mickey’s attitude or the things he’d said or how worried Ian sounded about someone he should’ve hated.

“Nothing, Fi. Saw a spider.” It was a ridiculous lie but it was all he had.

She didn’t buy it but Ian busied himself with fixing the couch and picking up a few things that had been tripped or pushed over while Mickey and Ian were brawling. Fiona didn’t push it and walked into the kitchen wearing a long sweater that hung below her thighs, her pale, bare legs showing.

Ian went to work as normal and didn’t see Mickey. Kash told him he’d called in sick.

After work, he went home in an exhausted rage. He wanted to collapse on his bed the second he walked through the door but instead he went out into the backyard and sat down beside Lip who was smoking a cigarette and supervising Carl who looked like he was trying to build some sort of rocket ship out of a broken washer.

“Need to talk to you.” Ian said when Lip acknowledged him with a glance and a quick tip of his head.

“Shoot.” Lip replied, eyes flicking back to Carl. “You’re gonna need more duct tape, dude! Can’t have that engine falling out when you hit hyper-speed!”

“Mickey was over. He went to a party last night and he fucked up.” Ian spoke lowly so Carl wouldn’t hear.

“Shit.” Lip didn’t hesitate. “Guess I should cancel the band for the wedding.”

Ian batted his arm in mock annoyance. “Please, like I’d let you pick the music.”

Lip grinned for a second before his expression became serious. “What’d you do?”

“Punched him.” Ian deadpanned, stealing Lip’s cigarette and taking a drag.

“In the face?” Lip asked incredulously, staring at Ian with a look of amazement.

“No, in the _ass_.” Ian responded sarcastically, making a face at Lip.

“Well,” Lip broke off into a laugh, “This is Mickey we’re talking about, excuse me if I’m a bit surprised he let you swing at him.”

Ian rolled his eyes and didn’t reply to that. “He implied something.”

“And what exactly did he imply?” Lip played along.

“He said you did heroin with him.” Ian blurted out. There was no time for precedence in this case.

Lip was quiet as he inhaled the smoke from his cigarette he’d snatched back. “He’s got a big fucking mouth.” He exhaled and the smoke swirled.

Ian stole a glance at his brother. “So you did?”

Lip took a deep breath and nodded. “Twice.”

Ian remained still apart from his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lip let out a short, pathetic attempt at a laugh. “It wasn’t something I wanted taped on the fridge next to my report card.”

“Yeah, but it’s me, man.” Ian muttered, trying not to add tension to the mounting situation.

“It’s not a big deal. It’s not an addiction; it’s not a problem. It happened, like, a year and a half ago, okay?” His tone was firm and Ian could tell he wanted to end the conversation.

That was too bad.

“Does Karen know?” Ian pushed.

“That doesn’t matter.” Lip snapped.

“It does to me.”

Lip stood up so fast that it made Ian jump a little. “Fuckin’ a, Ian. It’s not a big deal!” He shouted and stormed off.

Lip looked devastated as he walked quickly around the side of the house, continuing until he left the yard. Ian bit his bottom lip anxiously and stood outside for a few more beats, watching Lip’s cigarette slowly die out. Then he started walking fast, his steps jerky and forced as he made his way towards Mickey’s house.

*

Mickey was sitting at the table eating Cheerios when Ian walked in. The house was dim and trashed as usual. There were clothes piling up all over the place, boxes opened and taped shut, all stacked haphazardly against the walls and it seemed that every surface was covered in a thin layer of dirt.

It used to be Ian’s favorite place in the world.

Mickey’s brothers were in the living room playing a video game. Ian had never said a word to them but they had seen him around enough to know he posed no threat, as if Ian’s size compared to theirs didn’t already scream that fact. One of them grunted at Ian that Mandy wasn’t home. Ian could see Mickey’s face pale as he eyed Ian angrily.

“I need to talk to you.” Ian snapped.

Mickey’s brothers didn’t appear to care that Ian was standing in their living room and Mickey quickly got the situation under control by going into his room and waiting for Ian to follow before locking the door behind him with a sharp snap.

“You can’t just – ”

“You’re a dick, okay?” Ian shouted at him, hands outstretched like he couldn’t even comprehend Mickey’s entire being. “This isn’t working and you’re a dick.”

Mickey stared at him, mouth furled up like a pug’s. Ian had always found it endearing. “That all you came to say?” He snarled.

“No!” Ian shouted but then realized that, yeah, that had been about it. “Stay away from my brother.” He tried to act like he really meant it but he wasn’t stupid. Lip and Mickey would find a way to get together and do drugs if they wanted to so Ian knew his words held little merit.

“Gallagher,” Mickey started, “Do you really think I give a fuck if you ever talk to me again?”

It was such a brutal thing to say that Ian forgot every comeback, every reply, every single witty comment he’d wanted to make. He just stood there and took up room, stood there and converted oxygen and looked like a damn fool. He could feel the edges of his eyes burn. He knew he needed to blink but the second he did his eyes would be shining with oncoming tears and he couldn’t take Mickey’s disgusted expression for another minute. Finally he looked away, breathing heavily through his nose and slightly trembling from still not feeling the best.

In this fight or flight situation the best thing to do was drop dead. The air was tight with tension for a few minutes before Ian reached out to make Mickey look at him but he was grabbed viciously and shoved towards the bed. Ian wasn’t some wimpy kid anymore though. He had some form of coordination and didn’t completely fall over like he had the first time he had fought with Mickey in this bedroom. It had been so long since then. He took a firm step forward.

“Are you really sorry?” Ian asked through a set of grit teeth.

“You fucking spew this shit like the sun shines out of your ass.” Mickey ran a hand over his sweaty face and glared. “I can’t keep doing this with you.”

Ian was quiet for a beat, looking Mickey up and down while the other boy completely avoided eye contact. Ian tentatively reached out and brushed the side of Mickey’s head. The boy jerked away but Ian caught the other side of his face and pulled him forward, one set of fingers sliding through his hair, the other gripping his face.

Mickey just couldn’t get used to it. Ian was so much taller and stronger than he used to be. He wasn’t someone that could be jerked around anymore and it was all becoming too tangible too quickly. The next few seconds passed in heartbeats when both of them locked eyes. Ian wanted to bite Mickey’s top lip while Mickey wanted to assault his mouth and scratch at his back, and Ian wanted to feel him arch up underneath him. The skin around Mickey’s nose and eyes was bruised and

There was a sudden pounding sound and they sprang apart. Mickey pushed past him and unlocked the door hastily, one of his brothers shoving his way in and muttering something about how Mickey was told a million times not to lock the door. Ian and Mickey tuned him out though and opted to stare at each other with crude glares, neither willing to back down.

It was kind of hot, actually.

Before Ian could even half-consider doing something about the rapidly developing situation Mandy’s voice was screeching and tearing through the tension and it was broken, dissipating into the air as the raccoon-eyed girl rushed into the room.

“Mickey, this fucking bitch stole my wallet.” She snapped.

Mickey’s attention was instantly elsewhere. His eyes snapped to his sister. “You know where she lives?”

Mandy nodded. “Yeah, off of North and Pine.”

“Then let’s fucking go!” He shouted and grabbed his sweater from where it was lying crumpled on the ground.

Ian’s frown deepened. “I’m not done yet.” He started.

“Fuck off, I have shit to do.” Mickey sniffed and pushed past him. Ian watched him leave the room and quickly followed. He always felt weird being in Mickey’s space alone.

Mickey didn’t look back at him as they all exited the house. Even when Ian stood on the sidewalk and watched them pace away, Mickey didn’t look back. Ian felt a cold, sweaty feeling come over his body and clenched his fists together.

He knew who he had to talk to.

*

Ian had never spoken to Karen one-on-one. She was always with Lip, it was the only time he saw her. So when he knocked on the door and Karen answered he didn’t exactly know what to say. Karen had her hair up in a messy ponytail and looked stoned.

“Yeah?” She said, leaning against the door.

“Hey, um…can I come in?” Ian shifted on the doorstep awkwardly. He’d never really looked at Karen before and could kind of see why Lip liked her so much. She was pretty but had the tell-tale hooded eyes and lanky form of a girl that had been through hell; someone Lip could talk to.

“My mom’s…” Karen trailed off and glanced back into the house before stepping outside and closing the door. “I’d rather talk out here.” She mumbled.

They sat down together on the steps and Ian picked at his nails. “So, I just wanted to ask you something.” He took a deep breath. “Lip told me he did some drugs with a friend of mine, and I wanted to know if he told you about it.”

Karen squeezed her knees together and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. Ian almost offered her his coat. “Of course he did.” She shrugged and tightly smiled at him.

“He tells me every time he does it.”

“Every time?” Ian echoed, looking at her darkly.

Karen nodded. “It’s not often, if that makes a difference.”

Ian looked away and ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I guess I just don’t know why he didn’t tell me too.”

Karen cocked her head to the side and inspected him closely. “Do you tell him everything?” She asked lightly. “I mean, you didn’t tell him you were gay.”

Ian hadn’t thought of it that way. Maybe Lip just didn’t want the questions or the looks the same way Ian hadn’t wanted any of it when he had been closeted. Maybe he just didn’t want the attention. Even though Ian was still upset, it made sense in some twisted way.

“He really worries about you sometimes, Lip.” Karen stood up and rubbed her arms. “It’s fucking cold out here, I’m going in. Talk to your brother.” She shut the door with a snap.

Ian rubbed his hands together and blew on them, trying to get some circulation going but it didn’t seem to be working. Half of him wanted to call Lip but the other half wanted to curl up in a ball and never talk to anyone again. He couldn’t handle the stress with Mickey and with Lip, and just his life in general at the moment. Everyone seemed to be trying to deal with their own shit and no one was asking Ian how he was holding up.

He wanted to do something drastic to make them notice. Maybe it was childish, maybe it was stupid, but he needed a reality check.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song, "Fucked Up Kid".


End file.
